


PWPW: Porn with Paisley Wallpaper

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-02
Updated: 2006-08-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:45:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: A jealous Dean leads to sex, sex and more sex.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: PWPW: Porn with Paisley Wallpaper  
Author: merepersiflage  
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean   
Rating: 18+  
Category: PWP  
Word Count: 7600 (All smut)  
Spoilers: None  
Summary: A jealous Dean leads to sex, sex and more sex.  
Warnings: Incest, graphic m/m sex, language, bondage   
Disclaimer: These very interesting characters were created by other people, and I make no profit by playing with them.  
Notes: This was going to be a **little** PWP, but **someone** (you know who you are and I love you for it) kept sending little porn bunnies hopping my way.  
  
  
  
**PWPW: Porn with Paisley Wallpaper**  
merpersiflage  
  
As soon as he hit the door lock, Dean turned and shoved. Sam flew backward and landed with a bounce on the bed.   
  
“What, no dinner, no flowers? At least, what was his name—Chad?—tried a little sweet talking.”  
  
“You think this is funny?”  
  
“Well, your face is pretty funny.”  
  
Dean pounced on him, pinning him to the bed as Sam’s laughter shook them both.   
  
“I’m not laughing, Sam.”  
  
The grip on his shoulders, the line of his jaw, Dean really wasn’t kidding.  
  
“C’mon, Dean, so some guy we were questioning made a pass at me. Do I flip out when townies come on to you?”  
  
“It wasn’t _his_ moves that pissed me off, Sam.” Dean’s voice grated in his ear. “You flirted back.”  
  
“So?” Sam shifted his shoulders, but that only hurt more. Dean’s grip was so tight, Sam thought he might have permanent indentations. “Got the info we wanted, didn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah, that info. Was it in his fucking pants?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You were staring at his crotch.” Dean arched up and his hips slammed into Sam’s and fuck his brother’s erection rubbing his cock got him hard in a painful heartbeat. “My dick’s not enough for you now? Doesn’t fuck you hard enough?”   
  
Dean’s hand burned a hole through Sam’s jeans as it landed on his dick.   
  
That angry purr went on in his ear. “Seems I remember you could barely walk last time.”  
  
Sam remembered. God, he remembered. And damned if he didn’t want to feel like that again. Now. He arched into Dean’s hand.  
  
“Maybe it was his ass you were looking at.” Dean pulled away his hand, and Sam groaned. “Don’t I give it up enough?” Dean ground his cock against Sam’s. Shit, if he kept this up, they would never make it to the main event. “You always seem to want to bottom, Sammy. So am I too much of a top for you?”  
  
Dean’s hands fixed again on the same throbbing points on his shoulders. His eyes were wide, staring without a trace of humor. Dean was serious.   
  
“Huh? Answer me.” Dean ground harder.   
  
“No.” Sam barely got the word out between pants.   
  
“You want my ass, Sam, all you have to do is ask.”  
  
Sam jerked against him as his brother’s words pumped so much blood south Sam thought his dick would explode. It wasn’t that Dean was silent during sex, but usually he had a pretty limited vocabulary during the act: _tight, hot, fuck, yeah, harder,_ and _Sammy_ , mixed in with growls, grunts, and groans. Dean talking like this was turning him way past on.  
  
“You want my ass, Sammy?”  
  
Sliding into Dean, making him groan and shudder under him . . . Sam’s breath hitched and he bucked up.   
  
“Uh-uh. Don’t even think about coming.”  
  
Sam’s own vocabulary, which had been good enough for a 780 verbal on the SAT, failed him completely. “Ugngh.”  
  
“So, Sammy. You want my ass? That it?”  
  
Tight heat squeezing his dick, knowing he was fucking Dean. “Fuck yeah.”  
  
“Ask me nicely.”  
  
“Please let me fuck you.”  
  
“Not tonight, Sammy. Tonight your ass, your everything is mine. And after, you’ll never forget it.”  
  
Dean arched off him and began to strip.   
  
All right. So Dean going all dominant on him was more than a little hot, but really, Dean had to know he’d only been angling for information from that guy and if—  
  
“If you hadn’t acted like such a pissed off lover, that guy never would have thought I was available.”  
  
“Well, you’re not.” Dean stepped out of his jeans. “You getting naked or are you taking it with your pants around your ankles?”  
  
Fuck. He couldn’t get any harder. He crawled awkwardly off the bed and peeled off his shirt. He waited a second for his blood pressure to catch up to him. Even the simple act of opening his fly was going to be almost enough touch to make him come if he didn’t get himself under control. He really didn’t want to waste this on his jeans. Grateful for his prescience in choosing a loose fit, he lifted jeans and boxers carefully away, and let them drop.  
  
As soon as he stepped out of his sneakers and left his jeans in a pile, Dean was there, hot skin pressing all over his.   
  
“I’m gonna fuck you till I can see it in your mouth. And you’re going to take it. As long as I want. And you won’t come until I tell you or I swear to god I’ll take you dry.”  
  
Jesus. His dick jumped.   
  
“Now.” Was that a whine?  
  
“Oh, no. It’s not gonna be that easy. I’m gonna fuck you over every single surface in this room, Sammy. There isn’t going to be any doubt who this ass belongs to.” His hands grabbed and pulled, thumbs rubbing along the crease.   
  
Sam tried to jerk away. Between the dirty talk and the feel of him, Sam wasn’t sure he was going to make it and he had no doubt Dean would carry out his threat. Though in his current state of desperation, he wasn’t sure he’d even mind it.   
  
“You won’t even be able to breathe without still feeling my dick in you.”  
  
What the hell was he supposed to say to that, _Okay? Sounds like a plan?_ What came out was “Uhn.”  
  
Dean brought one of his thumbs to his mouth and licked it all over with his tongue before sliding it between those satiny lips. Sam leaned forward to follow that thumb, but Dean shoved him back until his shoulders hit the wall. His thumb slipped his mouth, and that was so suggestive of Dean bobbing on the head of his dick that his knees got a little shakey. “Don’t move.”  
  
Oh fuck. That voice so full of threat and promise. Why did he want to do exactly what it said?  
  
“Move and I stop everything.”  
  
He brought his hand back around Sam’s hips, the other hand pulling his cheeks apart and so that wet, thick digit could press against him, holy fuck press into him. His body yielded and swallowed the intrusion, a rumble of pleasure rippling out from those nerves. He had to lock his knees to keep from swaying, falling to his knees and begging Dean to fuck him now.   
  
“Wanna come?”  
  
“Yes. God, please.”  
  
“How bad?”  
  
“I can’t,” he panted for air, “think of anything else.”  
  
“Oh, I can help you there.”  
  
Dean pulled his thumb free.   
  
“Nuh.”  
  
He pushed him down to his knees.   
  
Sam fastened on Dean’s cock like that alone would make him come. The feel of it hot and thick, gliding over his tongue pressing against his throat, made a moan vibrate all the way to the base of his skull. Dean cradled his head, not forcing, just holding him steady. “That’s mine, too. That dirty, pretty mouth of yours. Wide lips all pouty around my dick.”  
  
Fucking hell, Dean could hire himself out for phone sex. But he wanted to keep these nasty whispers between them. Dean rocked in his mouth slowly, once, twice and then leaned away farther than Sam could follow. He managed one tight suck on that perfect head and then Dean was free. At least Sam had made him pant.  
  
Dean pulled him up again, and Sam leaned against the wall for support. “My mouth.” Dean leaned in. Sam had to kiss him, was going to kiss him.   
  
“Don’t. Move.” And the twitchiest crackhead would have frozen under that command.   
  
Dean’s mouth closed over Sam’s bottom lip, teeth and tongue in a hard suck like a hickey. He licked at the corner, a stabbing tickle of sensation. And without warning his thumb was back in Sam, the yield easier and harder the second time. Sam jumped and Dean nipped his lip harder in warning.   
  
His dick wanted to pump, something, anything, but he was half afraid Dean really would stop. His brother had had the control of a freaking Zen master today.   
  
“Even prettier now.” Dean leaned back and looked at Sam’s lips.   
  
Dean’s mouth traveled down his throat, lips and teeth and an occasional hot, wet lick. And all the while that thumb worked inside him, never deep enough but too much to ignore.   
  
He couldn’t contain the pulses of pleasure in his hips; it was spreading out, to his toes, his ears, his to the tips of his fucking hair.  
  
Dean shoved him back against the wall with his free hand, back harder on his thumb. He was working on the muscles on his chest now, and Sam didn’t know whether to be pissed or grateful that he spared his nipples. Anything, anything, god please anything might just be enough to push him right the hell over. He shut his eyes.   
  
He was going to slide down the wall, fall over on top of him, that teasing brush of tongue and lips, and that squirming thumb touching off sensations deep inside him and his poor cock stuck in between, weeping and begging and—  
  
“Open your eyes, Sam.”  
  
Dean was on his knees.   
  
Oh, god. He was going to kill him. There was no way he could stop from coming if Dean took him in his mouth. And then he’d be finding out exactly how serious Dean had been.   
  
His dick felt so full, so tight. And then there was a long sweep of Dean’s tongue, swirling around him like he was licking ice cream, just a flick at the top to lap the precome leaking.   
  
“Please, Dean, I have to—”  
  
“Learn not to piss me off by flirting with other guys?” But the anger was gone from his voice, leaving just his teasing, cocky sonofabitch of a brother.   
  
Dean made another long stroke. And Sam’s hips jerked a little. He sucked in a deep breath and started conjugating Latin verbs. His shoulders were peeling off the wall; he didn’t know how much longer he could stay upright.   
  
Another lick and he bit his tongue. The blood was a welcome distraction. Dean eased his thumb free again and left him gasping, arching back for it.   
  
“Oh, Sammy, you’ve been such a good boy. I think I’ll let you pick the first spot.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“I told you I’d fuck you over every surface in the room. Got a preference of where we go first?”  
  
He so did not care. Just the idea that the torture was close to ending made him sigh in relief. His balls weren’t just going to be blue, they were going to get black and fall the hell off if he didn’t get to come in the next ten seconds.   
  
“Nowhere? That’s a shame, Sammy. I thought you were looking forward to it.” Dean wrapped his arm around Sam’s knees and tugged him down onto the carpet.   
  
“This rug is filthy.”  
  
“Not gonna be my back on it.”  
  
Dean stretched out on him, arms reaching over his head, hands digging through his clothes. He laid a lick under Sam’s ear. “Gonna fuck you so hard, Sammy.”  
  
Sam was going to need to do some serious fucking himself after this if he wasn’t going to feel like Dean had his balls in his back pocket, but for now, “Promises, promises.”  
  
Dean pulled back onto his knees.   
  
“You’re so fucking lucky you were good enough for lube.” Dean slicked his fingers over Sam, pressing in just a little, a tickle inside. Sam arched into it, and Dean jerked his fingers away. “Can’t wait for my cock, can you?”  
  
“Been waiting awhile. I think you’re all talk.” Sam leaned up on his elbows so he could watch Dean stroke his dick, shining it up for him.   
  
Sam grinned. No condom. Messy but oh so good. He loved the feel of Dean spurting inside him, the rush of liquid heat from inside his brother released inside him.   
  
Dean grabbed his ass and pulled him up onto him, one long slide no chance for muscles to relax or contract, just a deep burning stretch.   
  
He didn’t pause then either, never gave Sam a chance to catch his breath, just began rocking in deep thrusts that made Sam ache from the need for a harder, faster, _c’monpleaseDean,_ friction. His muscles spasmed, trying to swallow Dean’s cock, trying to push it out, but Dean just kept up that long slide that made him fucking gasp for air every time Dean’s balls hit his ass.   
  
“Do you know how good your ass feels around my cock, Sammy? Do you know how tight you’ve got me? And do you know how fucking crazy it makes me to think of you letting someone else have this?”   
  
His hands flexed on his ass, pulling the stretched skin wider, and then squeezing it back, each shift firing along a new set of nerves.   
  
Dean fucked like he fought, single-minded, heedless of damage, give in or get out of his way. And tonight that intensity felt like it was going to burn Sam from the inside out.   
  
Dean’s hips shifted their motion, tilting up and hitting Sam—fucking hell, there. _Don’t stop. Jesus._  
  
He needed Dean to lose it, lose it and fuck him until the both couldn’t do anything but slam together until they came.  
  
“You call this hard? I can barely feel you.”  
  
Dean laughed and Sam swore he could feel it vibrate from Dean’s dick to his own spine. “This is just a little foreplay, Sammy. Just getting you ready.”  
  
He pulled out all the way and slammed in so hard and deep Sam really did think he’d come out of his mouth. He gasped.   
  
“I’m ready.”  
  
“C’mon then.” Dean pulled out and just fucking rolled to his feet. Jesus, what a bastard.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Every surface in the room, Sammy. Doncha remember?”   
  
Was Dean serious? Did he expect him to move, _now_? His legs felt like shocks with metal fatigue.   
  
“Need a hand?” Dean offered one, and Sam was so going to kill him right after Dean fucked him into next week.   
  
As soon as he got his quivering legs under him, Dean was shoving him over the desk. One hand plastered his torso to the chilly surface while his foot kicked his legs apart.   
  
Sam’s head was hanging down far enough that he could see Dean’s feet step up right between his own an instant before he felt that pressure start. He should have been stretched enough, but the muscles now had had time to start burning in protest. The head of Dean’s cock felt like it had doubled in size in the last minute.   
  
Both of them groaned as at last his body swallowed the head. And then it just stopped.   
  
“What’s the matter, Sammy? Quitting on me?”  
  
“No. I just—now!”   
  
Dean slammed home before that band of muscles could tighten back up and oh god Sam was so fucked. Dean waited for him, hand still resting in the small of his back, his panting breaths loud enough to be heard over Sam’s own.   
  
“God, you’re even tighter like this, Sammy. Too much? Want me to stop?” But it wasn’t soothing, it was a taunt. “Think Chad could fill you like this?”   
  
“No.” The blood was rushing to his head and Sam tried to lift it, but it was too much of an effort. He just hung there, impaled, waiting for all that fire and pain to turn sweet.   
  
“No what?”  
  
“No don’t stop.” He arched his back and Dean slid in further.   
  
“That’s it. Better than a five hundred dollar whore.”   
  
Sam shoved himself back again, but Dean didn’t move. The sweat poured off his neck and burned in his eyes as it found its way into his hair. “How . . .the fuck . . . would . .. you know?”  
  
Dean just laughed and started thrusting and yes, that was what he needed. No more pain, just perfect-good, nerves singing with the rub of flesh on flesh, slick and right.   
  
“Hard enough for you now?” Dean grunted. “Or?” His hand left Sam’s back for a moment, and hooked around his knee, dragging his foot up onto the chair and he was so open and Dean was in him so deep he felt like Dean was going to be fucking his heart in a minute, was going to twist it right out of him.   
  
Sam arched his back, trying to get that bundle of nerves right in line with the thick head pounding into him.   
  
“Don’t stop, god, please, Dean, please, please.” And he knew he was whimpering, begging, but he defied anyone not to with Dean’s dick so deep in his ass that he was going to be tasting him for a week.   
  
“This?” Dean reached around and grabbed his cock. “You want to come, now?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
“You sure? ‘Cause I’m not coming. I’m not nearly done with you yet, Sammy. I’m still going to throw you on the bed and fuck you again. Ready or not.”  
  
And Sam was going to die, because that threat and that stroke and the press there there. He came so hard his skull seemed to separate from his neck, his body so wet with sweat Dean was lucky he didn’t hydroplane off him into the wall. Or maybe it was the hold Dean took of him with his teeth in Sam’s shoulder that kept him there as Sam’s hips jerked through spasm after spasm.   
  
Sam’s body was still shaking when Dean pulled out of him again. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, to keep from coming as that tight heat clenched around him again and again, but he was determined to fuck Sammy long and deep enough that he’d never be able to look at another guy without feeling Dean in him.   
  
He wanted him on all fours on the bed, so he could watch his cock slamming in and out of Sam’s ass, watch every stroke as he fucked him, but when he peeled Sam off the table and shoved him toward the bed, Sam leaned against the wall for balance and that was just too good a sight to pass up. Walls were surfaces. And Sam was about to get fucked against one.   
  
The wallpaper swam with a pattern of those weird lopsided tadpole kind of spots, pansleys, or persimmons or something. All Dean know was he’d never see those shapes again without instant wood because the sight of Sam sprawled in the middle of them, fucked out to a shaking, staggering mess was never gonna leave him. A Sam gone all dark from sex, eyes bled of color from wide pupils, hair black with sweat, skin flushed, a dark red spill running from his cheeks and down his chest to a blood red dick at half mast. Not totally fucked out, then.  
  
Dean smiled and Sam bit his lip. He was gonna fuck Sam back to rock hard right against all those fat freaky tadpoles. Fuck him until he begged, promised, swore, _knew_ that he belonged only to him.   
  
He pressed into Sam, his brother’s extra inches of height put Dean’s still slick, still drill-hard dick in just the right space.   
  
Sam whimpered but offered no protest. Dean guessed he was all out of words for once.   
  
“C’mon, Sammy.” He pulled at Sam’s thigh, and Sam wrapped it up around his hip with a moan that left Dean no other choice but to drive right up into him.  
  
Sam’s cry made him freeze.  
  
“No. Don’t stop.”  
  
Dean smiled into the sweat on Sam’s neck, licking and nibbling a bit of that salty flesh.   
  
“How’s it feel, Sammy. Tell me. How’s it feel now? You know who your ass belongs to yet?”  
  
“It burns.” His words kept breaking with each short rough stroke. “Ev-er-y fu—ucking in-ch.”  
  
“Really. Hmph. ‘Cause I just can’t seem to get deep enough in you, Sam I need more. Just imagine how deep in you I’m gonna get when I’ve got you on your knees. You can tell me how much it burns then.”  
  
Sam’s dick thickened against his belly, rolling in the sweat from their bodies, smeared lube, spilled come. Dean jackhammered up a few more times until Sam’s eyes rolled white above his flushed cheeks.   
  
“Now.” Dean panted, the look on Sam’s face almost enough to make him lose control, “on the bed. Let’s finish this.”  
  
Sam seemed to have trouble moving, so Dean steered him to the bed. His own cock felt like it weighed forty pounds, full, leaking, ready to burst.   
  
He pushed Sam’s chest down and tipped his ass up. His thighs pressed against the back of Sam’s. Sam’s hole was red and puffy and Dean knew no matter how easily his cock head slid past that first muscle, it still probably burned like the first time they’d done it.   
  
Sam’s gasp confirmed it. “Jesus. Did you get fucking bigger?”   
  
“That’s just the head, Sam.” He swiveled his hips, watching his crown peek around the swollen flesh where they were joined.   
  
“Dean, please. I can’t. . .”  
  
“Can’t what? Ever think of looking at another guy’s dick?”  
  
“Can’t take much more.”  
  
“So tell me what I want to hear.”  
  
He rocked himself in and out in tight little circles until his own vision started to blur.   
  
“Tell me, damn it.”  
  
“What?” Sam’s voice was just barely a breath.  
  
Dean slammed home so fast that Sam screamed. Dean winced. They were in one of those states where they threw you in jail just for fucking another guy, even if he wasn’t your brother.  
  
Buried to the balls, he stopped and waited.   
  
“Fine. Jesus fuck, it’s yours.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“My ass. It’s yours.” Sam sounded like he was choking, but it could be the way his face was mashed into the pillows. “Please.”  
  
“That’s better.” Dean worked him deep. That angry red flesh swallowed his dick, sinking in and puffing out and every stroke brought a new grating whimper or cursing moan from Sam, each sound brought Dean that much closer to the edge.   
  
“That’s not all that’s mine.” He pressed his weight down over Sam and reached around his hip for his dick. “This is mine, too, Sammy. Your dick’s mine. And it’s gonna come for me again, isn’t it?”  
  
Sam’s answer was indecipherable, whether due to the pillows or the fact that Dean had just sped up his strokes, Dean wasn’t sure.   
  
He lifted his hips up and pressed down, trying to hit—  
  
“Fuck. Please. Fuck fuck fuck, oh god.”  
  
That should do it. He closed his eyes and let his teeth sink into Sam’s shoulder to clinch the deal.   
  
Sam arched and then froze, and Dean thrust faster, harder, letting the orgasm that had been building for what felt like hours finally tear through him, his mind splintering, everything bursting in a long flood of white heat inside Sam. The spasms went on forever as Sam’s muscles milked his dick, wringing everything from him until he could only hang on to Sam, head dropping down, sides heaving, like he’d run a fucking marathon.  
  
Slowly he became aware of other sensations besides the luxurious explosions of pleasure all along his nerves. His fingers were sticky with Sam’s sweat and come. His body was stuck to Sam’s, and his brother’s long muscled body was still shuddering under him, the twitches of his body a painful jar to his spent cock. Sam kept jerking and moaning, another splash coating Dean’s hand as he stroked him and Sam pumped again.   
  
He couldn’t move even to pull out, just lay panting, plastered to Sam by the adhesive of sweat. If he could get a little flatter, he’d probably drift right off. God, he felt so good. So perfectly spent, blood calming from the spike of rage that had swept through him as he’d watched Sam flirt with that guy. Sam was his. And he’d proved it on his still shuddering body.   
  
The body that was still working him like gentle hands, muscles trembling against his balls, contracting lightly along his dick. And he must not have spent it all, because he felt his dick come to painful life. God, he couldn’t. Not after that.   
  
“Sam. I’m sorry. I—God, I’ve gotta—”  
  
Shit. His hips started working, almost against his will, seeking the friction his body needed, demanded.   
  
“Sorry,” he groaned again.   
  
“It’s all right.”  
  
“Oh God, you—” And he just couldn’t stop. He was using Sam, and he couldn’t stop. “Sammy.”   
  
“It’s okay.” Sam rocked against him, increasing the friction. “It still feels go—”   
  
That was all he needed. The panic faded, and there was nothing but the bliss of sweet release rising to meet him. It ripped through him with no less power than the last, and with the final spasm he jerked himself free of Sam’s body and collapsed onto his side. Sam gathered him against his chest and Dean let his body slow into sleep.   
  
Just as he faded out he heard Sam whisper, “So, Dean, can I fuck your ass now?”  
  
*  
  
Dean had no idea how long he slept, but when he woke, his shoulders felt stiff and sore. He couldn’t imagine why. He’d expected his dick to be raw, but his shoulders? He shrugged them and realized he couldn’t move his wrists. They were pinned over his—fucking hell.   
  
“Sam? Sam! Goddamn it, you are so fucking dead.”  
  
The little shit had cuffed him to the fucking early American headboard.   
  
“What the hell?”  
  
Sam came in from the bathroom and sat down on the bed.   
  
Dean kicked him, and Sam slid off onto the floor.   
  
“Shoulda done my legs, too, jackass.”  
  
Sam smiled and leaned on the wall.   
  
“Surprised you can even walk, Sam. That was a hell of a pounding.” Dean would have folded his arms behind his head, but the fucker had chained him to the goddamned headboard and was so gonna be sorry. He settled for a smug smile.   
  
“Yeah it was.” Sam didn’t even try to hide a wince as he picked himself off the wall. “You want me to do your legs, because we’re both just gonna get bruised but I’ll win in the end.”  
  
Dean thought about making him prove it and then changed his mind. “Depends on what you got planned. Didn’t get enough last night?”  
  
“Oh, I think I got more than enough. But I remember you making me an offer.”  
  
“Oh . . .” He kept right on grinning. “Feeling a little . . . fucked over? Need to get your balls back, Sammy? Oooo, I’m just helpless, take me.”  
  
Sam matched his grin, and Dean felt a tickle of apprehension in his gut.   
  
“I’ve been doing a little research.”  
  
“On line?” Dean groaned. “Man, I hate it when you do that. We get nothing but pop ups for penis enhancement. And you and your ass are not gonna tell me I need any of that.”  
  
“No.” Sam’s grin got wider. “But there was something I wanted to try.”  
  
And in spite of last night, in spite of his hands being cuffed over his head, Dean felt a pulse of interest in his raw flesh.   
  
“I don’t know, Sam, I mean aren’t you—”  
  
“You said all I had to do was ask.”   
  
“Yeah, well, I was kind of just talking out my . . .” _Aw, fuck_  
  
“You won’t have to work hard. And it’s supposed to lead to the best orgasms ever.”   
  
“Ever?”   
  
Sam nodded. Dean considered. He really had been planning on sleeping in. They couldn’t really do anything more on this job until tonight. _Best ever_? ‘Cause last night’s had been pretty top of the list.   
  
“What do I have to do?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“That doesn’t sound like much fun, Sam.”  
  
“No. I mean, I’ll be in you, and then we just don’t move.”   
  
“Sounds kinda boring.”   
  
“Chicken?”  
  
“I didn’t say that. I just want to know if this is some kind of revenge thing for last night.”   
  
Sam stayed well out of range of his legs as he leaned in to whisper, “Why would I want revenge just because I’m going to be sleeping on my stomach for a month? When every time I sit down I curse you to hell?”  
  
“Yeah, well,” And it was on the tip of his tongue to say _you brought it on yourself_ , but he didn’t really think that Sam needed any more goading—at least not until Dean’s hands were free.   
  
“So?”  
  
“So, what?”  
  
“Are we doing this?”  
  
“If I say yes will you uncuff my hands?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Fine. We can try out your stupid sex research.”  
  
Sam grabbed the lube off the nightstand, but left the key sitting there in plain fucking sight.   
  
“Uh, Sam?”  
  
“I said maybe. We’ll see if you can behave yourself.”  
  
Dean narrowed his eyes, but Sam kept the shit-eating grin firmly in place.   
  
“So, we’re just going to do this? I mean just like that?”  
  
“What’s the matter, baby? Need a kiss?”  
  
“Fine. Do me. Whatever. Pervy bastard.”  
  
Sam put the lube back down and leaned over him, his warm muscles pressing with just the right weight on Dean’s stretched chest. Dean kept on glaring at him as Sam closed the space between them for a kiss. Sam tasted like toothpaste.   
  
“How’s my morning breath?” Dean huffed in his face.  
  
“Could be worse.”  
  
“Well, if someone hadn’t, you know, cuffed me to the bed, I’d have brushed my fucking teeth, too.”  
  
“It’s fine, Dean.” Sam nipped at his lower lip before sliding his tongue into the space between.   
  
Just when Dean was starting to get into the kiss, Sam lifted his head and nipped his way down his jaw. “Aren’t you a little confused, Sammy? You’re the one who likes to be bitten. And fucked.”  
  
Sam leaned to the side so he could look down the length of their bodies. “Right ‘cause it’s not doing a thing to get you hard.”  
  
He shouldn’t be.   
  
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sam. Even in this mood of his brother’s—whatever the fuck it was—he trusted Sam, but Dean did not do helpless well, or at all. And cuffed, waiting to get fucked, yeah, while that left him feeling pretty helpless, you couldn’t tell by his dick. The fucker had always had a mind of its own.   
  
Sam licked below his ear and that was it. Mr. Happy was ready to party. Sam’s fingers stroked the rigid skin, and Dean felt him smile against his neck.   
  
“Don’t get so cocky. I sprout wood if the wind hits me there.”   
  
“Riiiight.”  
  
“Jackass.”  
  
“Your ass.”  
  
“Good thing you remember.”  
  
Sam leaned up and looked down into his face. “Oh, I won’t be forgetting that for awhile.” His hands slid around Dean’s hips, fingers seeking that spot at the base of his spine that could electrify every inch of Dean’s skin.  
  
He found it, and Dean’s shoulder almost ripped from their sockets as his arch off the bed was brought up short by the metal on his wrists.   
  
“Gonna hurt yourself.”  
  
“Then stop fucking with me. Popping my shoulder back in is really gonna interrupt your good time.”  
  
“Patience is kind of the point of this whole thing, Dean.”  
  
“Then I guess you’re outta luck, since patience isn’t exactly _my_ thing, Sam.”  
  
“Not even for the best orgasm ever?”  
  
“You’d better be right.”   
  
Dean tried to relax against the mattress, but Sam dragged a pillow down and slid it under Dean’s hips. Nerves kicked in his stomach again. Not that Sam never fucked him, but it was usually a whole hell of a lot more spontaneous, a sudden need sending them both out of their minds. This calculated, _researched_ for fuck’s sake, plan was really making him so uncomfortable he felt his erection start to—  
  
Sam’s long, knowing fingers wrapped around his wilting cock, too large hands covering more territory than should be possible, getting him back to aching fuck-now, hard with just a couple of strokes.   
  
“The pillow’s just to make things easier. So you don’t strain your back.”  
  
“You know what would make things easier? You uncuffing my fucking hands. That would make things a lot easier.”  
  
“Relax, Dean.”  
  
“You eyeballing me with that lube in your hand is so not in the neighborhood of relaxing.”   
  
“You’d rather I skipped the lube?” Sam was wearing an evil grin. The fucking bastard.  
  
“No.” Dean’s ass clenched tight at the thought, but this part was what made him really squirm: Sam working that cold slick stuff into him. It never felt like a real part of sex, just him getting basted like a fucking turkey. And it was different when he prepped Sam. That felt like sex, all right, with Sam grinding down onto his fingers, his breath hot and loud in his ear. But now, with his hands bound over his head, and Sam bending over him, he could only feel like he was in for a really uncomfortable doctor’s visit.   
  
Sam just pressed his chest into his again, fingers light on his dick, mouth gliding over his until he forgot how ridiculous he felt and damn, Sam’s finger was already there and he didn’t have time to tighten up because it felt so good. And then he felt, holy hell good, because Sam’s fingers were long enough to curl inside him and find just the right spots to press and rub. Damn, there were a lot of nerves down there.   
  
“Let’s go,” he grunted.   
  
Sam lifted his head and looked at him again, and he had no right to look so damned smug.   
  
“Patience.”  
  
“Fuck patience. Fuck me. Let’s go.”  
  
Sam sighed. Like it was a huge imposition that Dean was going to let him fuck his ass. And he still was _letting_ him, cuffs or not he could totally have Sam unconscious on the floor if he wanted to. Sam just dropped his head onto Dean’s shoulder and kept curling those long—Jesus, how many did he have in there?—long fingers.   
  
“Enjoy the friction while you’ve got it.”  
  
“You do know . . . ahhh friction is kind of the point of sex, right? I me--an . . .” God he hated that Sam could make his voice break like that. “Just a hand around my dick doesn’t really do much for me.”  
  
“Guess we’ll just have to see.”  
  
“Guess? You aren’t even sure this is gonna work?”  
  
“No, but it’d be a shame to miss out on the best orgasm ever because someone’s a pussy.”  
  
“You are so lucky you didn’t uncuff my hands because—”  
  
Sam laughed and twisted his fingers so that the tail end of Dean’s threat got lost in a gasp.   
  
Dean pulled breath back into his lungs. “Who’s a pussy? You’re the one taking his time.”  
  
Sam’s fingers slipped out of him. Dean did not make any sort of needy whine at the sudden emptiness, mostly because he was chewing his lip to stop it escaping. Sam straddled him with those legs, those freaky long legs that always felt so perfect wrapped around his hips.   
  
“Uh, Sam, I know you don’t do this much but—”  
  
“Shut up, Dean.”   
  
Sam slicked up his dick with far more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary until he was jacking himself his back arching, hips thrust forward.   
  
Dean’s tongue fell over his bitten lip. His fingers twitched. God, he wanted his hands on Sam. Everything so long: neck torso, muscles stretching until he could almost see the individual fibers. Those fingers that had been so perfect inside him were now raking the length of Sam’s dick. Sam’ s dick. Which was going inside him. And why did it suddenly look longer? Thicker? The pads of his fingers ached with the sense memory of all that satin heat, his mouth softened, filled with spit, as he remembered the measure, the weight of that plummy—hell, he might have to upgrade to peachy—head.   
  
He kept right on staring as Sam shifted again so that he was between Dean’s thighs, lining them up. That gut-wrench of vulnerability slammed back into him, and Sam was only brushing along the outside.   
  
“Relax.”  
  
“I’m fine.”   
  
“You’re not. I can feel your muscles tensing.”  
  
“I keep telling you I’d feel better if you’d uncuff my—Jesus.”  
  
Sam’s teeth flashed with that blinding smile as his cockhead pushed in.   
  
That was good, but he wanted Sam to hurry because he knew damn well the more time he had to think the more likely he was to—  
  
“Ow.”  
  
Sam stopped his slow press and looked down at him. The smile was gone, and Sam’s face bore a look of intense concentration, like he was trying to remember some obscure arcane phrase.   
  
They froze there, just breathing, Sam’s hands resting on Dean’s hips until Dean tried to shove himself forward. Sam held him back. “Wait. You’re only going to make it—”  
  
And they both groaned as that second set of muscles yielded just that bit more. Dean’s eyes burned and he realized sweat was dripping off his hairline. He wiggled a little and his nerves burst into flames. Not quite ready yet. God, this was easier when they just went at it.  
  
“Uhm, are you in? I mean, is that—“  
  
“About half-way.” Sam sounded almost as strained as Dean felt.   
  
_Half? Fuck._ He arched his back and everything lit up like a tilt on a pinball machine. But he couldn’t quit. “There?”  
  
“Almost.”  
  
“Fucking hell.”  
  
“Just—”  
  
“Do not tell me to relax or you will never ever get to do this again.”  
  
Sam’s breaths were as loud as his as they stared at each other, locked in that tight struggle.   
  
And then something happened in his back and his hips, something like the way his muscles felt just before he came, and before he could even murmur _What the fuck?_ his body just opened up, and Sam slid home like a bullet into its chamber.   
  
“You know. It’d be a whole lot easier if we did this more often.”  
  
“Shut up, Sam.”  
  
“All right?”  
  
“Yeah.” And he was. He was still stretched to the fucking limit, helpless in a way he knew he should hate, but that hot fullness inside him, Sam inside him, just felt good. “Now what?”  
  
“Just this.”  
  
All right. It felt good, but it didn’t feel like it was gonna lead to the best come ever. He couldn’t imagine how hard it was for Sam to hold himself still. His balls had to be screaming for him to move.   
  
Sam leaned forward until the full length of their bodies were pressed together, Dean’s dick pressed between them, Sam’s forehead against Dean’s.   
  
“I don’t think this is gonna work unless somebody moves.” Dean tightened his muscles around Sam’s cock.   
  
Sam gasped and then murmured, “That’s cheating.”  
  
“Well, what are we supposed to do?”  
  
“Just feel.”  
  
“What is this, some kind of yoga sex?”  
  
“Could you just try it?”  
  
“Well, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be feeling because I really don’t feel much of anything.”  
  
“I think I’m insulted.”  
  
“You know I mean sex-wise. Fuck, talk about cheating . . . you know what I mean.”  
  
“Could you just try shutting up and waiting for a few minutes.”  
  
Easy for Sam to say when he wasn’t split open by someone’s long-ass cock. Dean sighed and waited. Nothing happened. He felt full, but not too uncomfortable and his dick was cradled between their bellies. No friction, but nice and warm. He didn’t exactly feel like falling back to sleep—and he certainly didn’t figure to be getting the best come of his life out of it, but on the whole it was nice.  
  
They were breathing in time with each other, and Sam’s sweat dripped down to mix with his. Then he noticed he could feel his breath in those nerves where Sam had him so tightly stretched, a prickle on the inhale, a tingle on the exhale. And then a pounding, a throbbing right from his ass to his cock and Sam hadn’t moved an inch.   
  
“Holy fuck, is that your heartbeat?”  
  
“I thought it was yours.”  
  
Dean still wasn’t ready to give up old-fashioned fucking, but he had to admit this was getting pretty interesting. Tension was running up and down his body in waves, even though all his muscles felt as deeply relaxed as if he were in a sauna. He was aware of every single fiber of the space inside his body where Sam’s cock pulsed. Each drop of sweat now fell like a tiny kiss on his skin, skin that was starting to vibrate every where they touched. And yet neither of them had moved.  
  
Their breaths got faster, remaining in synch, and now Dean swore he could feel the flow of blood along every capillary under their skins. The throbbing inside him increased as their heart rates ramped up.  
  
He wanted, fuck, he _had_ to touch Sam now. Had to get his hands on him, finish this skin on skin, body in body, touching everywhere. He had to pull Sam’s mouth to his so they could kiss through whatever this was that was building up between them faster than thunderheads on a flat Nebraska sky and just as ready to burst.   
  
There was no point in tugging at the cuffs, but he still did.   
  
“Yeah.” Sam reached overhead and just that, just the movement of one of his arms, shit, if they really started moving now . . .  
  
And his hands were free at last. Sam’s hips shifted and he latched onto his brother’s biceps. Damn, it was easy to forget how fucking strong Sam was. “Wait. Just a little more.”  
  
“Dean—I—okay.”  
  
His hands slid up to cup Sam’s neck and drag him down for a kiss. Sam kept his lips closed, pressed against him the way their bodies were. Dean tried to tease an opening with his tongue, and Sam lifted his head enough to whisper, “If we start kissing, I won’t be able to—”  
  
“Okay.” Because that whatever it was was still there, piling on, bigger, hotter, sizzling and buzzing every place, his lips, his back, his ass, his balls and oh yeah, the head of his dick. He pushed Sam’s hair out of his eyes, stroked down the sheen of sweat on his back and landed at his hips, fingers splayed out at the top of his ass.  
  
“Now?” Sam’s voice was breaking.   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
His body had gone into that hyperawareness it did when he was hunting, senses seeming to stick out from his body so he could react that much faster. But instead of danger, all they found now was Sam. His taste, his smell filling his mouth, soft grunts loud in his ear, and his body—oh god, his body was on overload. Sam couldn’t thrust deep stretched out like that, but every little motion dragged a scream from nerves and muscles. And when he came, he felt it in every part of his body right to the soles of his feet.   
  
Sam groaned, thrust harder, tongue in his mouth, cock in his ass, pressing Dean down until Dean thought he’d go right through his skin. A word that might have been his name, and Sam pumped a long flow of hot come deep inside him, a fiery rush that seemed to go on forever.   
  
It wasn’t as if Dean wanted to snuggle for fuck’s sake, but when Sam rolled off him the loss of contact was jarring. Christ, he’d want flowers and jewelry next.   
  
He pushed out a bored sigh. “Not bad.”  
  
“Oh, not bad, huh?” Sam was still panting.  
  
“Yeah. I still think it would have been better if my hands weren’t cuffed.” He stared at the ceiling.   
  
“Because you would really have let me get us that far if your hands were free.”   
  
“Yes I would.”  
  
“You are such a terrible liar. I don’t even know why you try.”  
  
“I am not.”  
  
“Are too. Who’s been busted the last three times he tried to pull a lame, ‘Excuse me ma’am we’re from . . .’ ”  
  
“So I’m having a run of bad luck.”  
  
“No, you suck at lying. The cheapest rug called to say you suck at lying.”  
  
“You believed me when I said I’d let you fuck my ass, didn’t you.”  
  
“Yeah, and in case you forgot, I just did.”  
  
“Yes, but I never was going to let you. I was lying and you didn’t know that.” Dean twisted on the pillow to see if Sam was buying it.  
  
“Which is why it was a good thing I chained your hands to the head board.”  
  
“Whatever, dude.” He sagged back.   
  
“Not whatever.” Sam had that stupid, intent, I’m-gonna-win look. “I’m right, admit it. That was awesome, and we never would have done it if your hands had been free.”  
  
“I said whatever.”  
  
“Whatever does not mean you admit it.”  
  
“Shut up, Sam.”  
  
“Oh, that’s a great way to win an argument.”   
  
“Yeah, this one’s better.” Dean rolled over and kissed him.   
  
Sam pulled his head away. “Dean, I lied about your morning breath.”  
  
Dean leaned back and put a hand to his mouth to check. “Are you serious?”  
  
“Maybe. Maybe not. But you’ll never know, because unlike you, I am an awesome liar.”  
  
“Then _maybe,_ you’ll just have to suffer with my breath, you smug little shit.”   
  
Sam’s shoulders were shaking with laughter as Dean pushed him into the bed and kissed him.   
 


End file.
